Hamilton Oneshots (MadaNaru version)
by ItachiSLucius
Summary: This is part of a running series in different settings set to Hamilton songs. (MadaNaru, maybe ItaNaru) Mpreg is normal.
1. Chapter 1: Would That Be Enough

#17 **Would that Be enough**

Staring out the window he knew that he was lucky. Still he could not fathom to feel such an emotion. It was plain and grey outside, horrid hues of black, white and dull. A sparkle of violet would peak out from the shadows of his obscure vision bestowing upon him, some sense of hope. There was only a slim possibility with his desperate plea to the General would pass through and he could be graced again. Still he remained with his head high, pride through his eyes as his consciousness battled him, and reality raced. Maybe experience had only granted him a bright lit tilt to the world, where he was selfish, and did not notice his own plagued mind.

There was a small humming bird fluttering gracefully around the feeder, seeking food. It had been replenished recently, he hadn't wanted to refill it, going outside had become some sort of pained adventure. The store was too fair a walk for his swelling feet, and the cold months only slowed his movements further. Already the were aching from standing too long and cleaning the dishes, so few now.

He sat in the rocking chair just off place from the warm fire, and readjusted his knitting, a small blanket, the colours having been chosen at random. His abdomen provided as a perfect resting place for this work. In this, at least he only listened to the cracking of the fire and the task at hand. Unhindered by his piling debts to the bank and the unrest he was causing his friends. Breathing deeply at a small cramp he placed his knitting beside him, and reached for the cooling cup of warm milk at his side, rocking ever so slowly to ease the child. Humming the soothing tune he had written only for them. Although it meant in nothing other then happiness there was an undertone of melancholy, bitterly imposing on his tone. Tears slowly glistening in his eyes as the picture on the mantle seemed to stare over at him with gloss, false eyes.

"We don't need a legacy, we don't need money…" Whispering he spoke in the silence, keeping his eyes on the framed photo, looking at the false glossy eyes, wishing they would change before him and become real. The sun peered out from the clouds and the glass over the picture only reflected his own face at himself. Mockery of the light itself, he paid no attention.

He had written.

There had been no reply-.

-Hence the past months had been strained. Comforted only by simplicity that his life was ingrained, and the child growing within himself. Something of his husband remaining with him. Though he trained his mind in other directions, this was not some final resort he found himself saying. Truly all he was waiting for was a citation paper, a pink slip deciding what remnants of his life would linger. The gold band on his finger resting so heavy would weigh more than a ton, and his baby would strain in his skin, would it know priour, that its Father was dead? No, he didn't want that. What a gruesome thing for an infant to know. Let alone _their's._

He rose from his seat, swaying slightly at the sudden motion he had caused, putting another log to the fire. The warmth seeping in through his baige jumper. The piece on the mantle glinted in his eye, he swam to meet it, not in desperation of a longing man, but in the patience of a wise one. It was of his husband and his best friend. Both men so devout to each other, they fought in war side-by-side without a second thought. He had been so proud then, he remembered the moment before, a fogged longing of when Madara had stood at the doorway, and kissed him so many a time he could not possibly have counted all the separate times. Then again, it had been so fast and frequent maybe they hadn't been separated at all. What fools had they been, he had been, proud that the one he loved was going to his death, when a child blossomed in his belly unknown to him. Would Madara had stayed if it had been sooner?

Yes, he knew that answer so well. Of course he would have, oh, but his thoughts were cruel weren't they?

Leave Hashirama to fight in war alone? It would tear at Madara, and he would never forgive such a grievance on his closest friend would he? It was plain and obvious, but the man he loved could love so greatly that he would sacrifice for a man he did not physically devout himself to.

This picture was held on their mantle for a reason. Just before Madara and Hashirama had been drafted, they had their uniforms on, braking conduct, and had smiled at the camera. Entwined together in a careful and familiar hold. Despite their close bond, he had never managed to feel even a jealous or possessive hint, ego perhaps, but he knew the truth. So instead, seeing them together only ever made him smile. Even now, when the grey swarmed his vision in such a way that colour was foreign.

There was a scraping at the front door, but he had not the will to open it and look. Something was holding his neck and providing a painful pressure, tears falling down his face at the chokehold of his own emotions. Hormones of pregnancy, nothing more.

Still the scaping continued, a grating sound like someone was scratching through concrete. Maybe someone was, their door was painted white with a slab of concrete acting as a makeshift porch, slumped off to the right because of the recline on the hill which they lived.

It would be best if he looked at least. Nodding, he cleared his tears with a tissue from his pocket, old and worn, the picture delicately placed back onto the wooden mantle with only a slight sound. He waddled over to the door, peeking through the hole at the front to see whom or what was there.

His heart constricted painfully at the military uniform he saw, green, so army, Madara was in the army unit. Deeply he conflicted, but he knew he was prepared for this moment, he his mind was set in the stance in which he had set it, painfully dull, with detachment. He refused to break down in front of a soldier, not from embarrassment, but honour. The man's head was downturned and he was scraping the concrete with his heavy boot, it explained the noise.

The click of the door was an almost painful occurence, and he held himself so rigged and straight that the eight month belly he had would hit the man. He knew his hands shook.

The soldier snapped to attention, and Naruto stared at the face of the man he was sure would bring about his unravelling. Instead, he was faced with his salvation, dark crimson eyes, thin lips, and underlined, uptilted eyes. Madara. He froze his breath not leaving him, painfully stuck in his esophagus. Needles peircing at his lungs.

His hair was shorter, fair shorter, that would be why he hadn't recognized him. It was shaved, no buzz cut closely to his head at the sides, but the tips of dark black hair peeked through his hat.

Finally he remembered oxegen, quick enough that when his husband and captured him through his mouth he could relish it. His arms folded around the sun warm neck and pulled it as close as he possibly could. But Madara stopped, and looked down.

"Y-your…" His fingers graced over the large bump, warm and so gentle they were scarcely felt through the thick fabric. Naruto stared a moment longer at the distracted, but real, oh so real, eyes of his husband before placing his cold hand on his over the baby.

"Pregnant." He confirmed, for it was obvious.

"How fair along?"

"Eight months or so." He hadn't remembered the conception date, the last couple months Madara had been packing had been filled with random nights of passion, and pinpointing one instance was horribly difficult.

"You should have told me…" They had moved to embrace now, the war torn man was clinging almost disparate, and Naruto could feel a shaking beginning in his husband's body.

"I contacted the General a month ago." Admittance was hard, he could have simply written a letter explaining the situation, but he hadn't wanted Madara distracted. "I begged him to send you home."

"You should have told me." Yes, he should have, but it remained in truth, too dangerous a gamble.

"I'm not sorry… I knew you'd fight until the war was done." He let go then, a let Madara a moment, the man breathed hard, and his face pinched together, but nonetheless he grabbed his bag and shuffled inside. He heard the mutter.

"The war's not done." Guilt had already arisen, and had it not been something expected, perhaps it would have hurt.

"Look around, look around, at how lucky we are to be alive right now." The elation at the simple prominence of his husband's well being was not something so simple it could be placed in words. Though the Uchiha could not seem to be in agreement, for his shoulders tensed, and when he turned his voice spoke with cracking emotion.

"Will you relish being a poor man's wife? Unable to provide for your life?" Startled he averted his eyes, there was something hidden within those questions, but… His eyes landed on the knitted blanket he had been working on, making particular note of the white and red that he had chosen for its colouring, completely at whim. It hardened his mind, his tears which had formed dried, and he looked back with confidence.

"I relish being your wife." Madara didn't answer this, but he didn't appear convinced or placated, only confliction as he clenched and unclenched a strong, burnt fist. Naruto sighed, and saw the mantle, the two pictures resting there, his hopes when there had been near nothing keeping him from drowning in the grey. Madara and Hashirama's friendship, unbreakable and strong, dependable, and loyal, as Madara himself was. Their wedding picture, with the gloss eyes that before had seemed so dim, but now looked as if they held real depth. Their wedding picture hiding all the disasters it had brought, bathed in a simple frame of normality. This was them. Madara knew this, but he was having trouble seeing.

"Look at where you are, look at where you started… The fact that you're alive is a miracle just stay alive. That would be enough…" He balanced himself. Stating thoughts he didn't know he held. "And if this child shares a fraction of your smile. Or a fragment of your mind, look out world! That would be enough! I don't pretend to know, the challenges you're facing, the worlds you keep erasing and creating in your mind…" Taking the larger hand in his own he crept into the larger man's warmth, and faced him. "I'm not afraid, I know who I married. So long as you come home at the end of the day, that would be enough…"

They kissed.

Again, and again, once more, twice more. Their passion didn't dwindle, but it held in place, simply joy and not lust, they needed nothing but eachother in that moment, heating the fire underneath their skin, their own longing, to hold the other over the long months. It pressed firm as their bodies did, grasping to each other as reunion bore sweetly between the three of them. Kept looked inside their hearts unhindered by lock and key, they're love for the one before them only grew. Pressed as one.


	2. Chapter 2: Hurricane

He sat aloft, so high above the sky watching in fascination. Occasionally he would fall beneath the sea and ocean, mingling with the waves as a being of water. The air he lay upon and rested himself, he ate from the heavens, bathed in the oceans slept within the sky, and drifted into the stars in boredom. Still lack of reason remained. Years or months it took for him to be given new task: This by a tall standing man of both height and power -though ability he knew not of- with hair of flowing tree bark and skin of upturned soil, each part of the man a brown of earth, his robe however was made woven of grass and moss intertwined and though he seemed a product of the land below, His gaze was gentle in comparison to his hardened earth tones.

As years, later decades, furthered into centuries and millennia he was tasked to perform a duty he did not fully grasp. A miserable bringing havok and wreck, and through those same millennia he had come to the conclusion that the other was of kindness unto mortality. However, he asked such brutality of him, tarnishing the land he cherished and the humans he so protected to his breasts as children of his own.

In this understanding, it left with a bitter misinformation and oxymoron so intergrained that Madara -as was himself- could not comprehend Hashirama as he so once thought. Whence he had asked for a reasoning he had been given a simple kindness with gentle demeanor only belonging to the fellow God -as none could portray as he- and asked a question, accompanied by a vague quotation of wise words never failing the man as he spoke in wisdom and years yet warmed with child wonder and passion, a touch only lingering in the softest of touches. Hashirama was as a mystery Madara knew unsolvable. Though now, after centuries of allowing his curiosity to fade, the fellow persisted to ask him that same question as when he had asked for reason of purpose.

"What for do you think disaster brings in harmony." In lack of answer he never gave response, for it was known to him than anything not befalling perfection would displease the fellow god of Earth and soil.

He knew well his ability, what he conjured was mere destruction, yet it gave nothing. Still Hashirama asked it of him every few moons. Always looking for the answer he could not give.

Once he had looked to himself in wondering.

Swept down to a small mass of water and looked to himself, thinking he would meet features as Hashirama's own. Instead the self he found was a man -he had presumed- with very long reaching hair the colour of deep devastating clouds as he so often controlled, spiking behind him as the strikes of lightning he so made. Skin not of black but of softened cloud, left over from devastation, greyed by water but not darkened with threat. His eyes were tinted with the day a bright red and in night he found them as the star filled sky. It was strange to have reckoning with oneself on a level never considered. Though he appeared little like the only other God he knew -though there were others as he was aware- it was comfort rather then devastation. This: he knew not why.

Morning greeted him with a responsibility to perform. So, he did sweep the skies with his hand, gathered the waters with the other, and contorted the winds with his fingers. In this case he could not remain idle for a Hurricane he controlled, and they unlike tsunamis or thunder storms required him inside them for stability.

He settled overtop the land he ruined. Already homes were destroyed, everything was flooded. People screamed.

As was normal.

"In the eye of the hurricane there is quiet." Something spoke to him. With no one about him, left him to look down, though he could see none for his disposition left him to high. "For just a moment." It was a voice, such that only a mortal could speak in truely.

A mortal unintentionally speaking towards a God. What could promote this, he knew not, he grappled with answers, each nonsensical in line.

They were centermost. In the eye as so described, were the winds bellowed but nothing else, the sun shone above more as an omen then comforting embrace of warmth. Tone so sorrowful in resonance, but yet, gratified. "A yellow sky."

This time, residing in the form of a mortal: he walked to that whom had spoken staring above with tears cascading and a smile so vague one could hardly fathom it there at all. Perplexed by the oddity. Humans creatures as like animals seeking their life with desperation not befitting dignity. So entranced upon what lurked above, now stilled from Madara's own lack of presence. They were young, least for that body of a human.

"You are not afraid?" He could not speak in mortal dialect, through eyes stared shocked into his own, before more tears fell, but so did words.

"Of course, I do not wish to die. I am terrified. But still, it is so calm right here." Something struck lightning within him at this mortal speaking. Shone as the brightness of the sun, with the glimmer of rechid Tobirama's seas of blue, and skin likened to Hashirama's own. There was so much destruction about, even the ground underfoot was made swamped with water sweeping from the town. "Aren't you?" Came the return. Madara was fascinated, not for the question, but by the curiosity, the ambition to gaze unto the yellow sky rather then run for shelter, to wish for contentment. Evermore the way this youngling had spoken in direct with a God.

Upon whim, he gave to a decision not wise for one of his age. Walked forth to the mortal, gaining a look of confusion by his flowing robe made by layered rainfall for which a small human could not understand. "Stay within the eye, and I can promise you'll live."

"How could you promise such?" He smirked and certainly didn't divulge instead he made bid onto his promise by kissing directly the mortal, sealing his deal. Creating the final opposition, though he knew it not.

* * *

Casting well eyed manner to his eldest friend whom could not consume alcohol without being plagued with detriment. He had retired for the night only to be swarmed by such individuals intoxicated with the ideal of depriving him of limited rest. He knew them well, men of good manner typically. Though they did rejoice in their conduct of impeaching unto his person the beseechment of their company late into the waxing hours of day.

In particular calling to him for the the simple matter of advice, which he would gladly give should it not come when he was most restless. The advice they so desired was commonly best given by women of prestige; flanked by men of designated virtue and sheltered expressions displaying a petty lust and devotion only gracing those with a woman containing animorious knowledge and a charm belonging to those who could not lose what they held dearest.

Fore in a reason unknown unto even he, his mind possessed a wisdom in how to seduce those of the fairer sex, or indeed a man: this for the circle of women he maintained under the key of true friendship. Though to hold himself within a candid and unapologetic sin, his eyes were to linger longer on a well sculpted man then the curvaceous and thinning bodies of women. Of course this could not become a privy to any but himself, though there were plenty possessing of good conduct, it remained such an obscurity that he could not trust in any.

Today, among his guests were Sir Jiraiya, a man having received a Knighthood upon saving the King with the wit of vitreous nature. A kind man, offered the position of baron, but had turned away from the title under the vast perusement of women -as he was so known for. He'd settled for the heart of the Dame Tsunade, a respectable woman of considerable independence not inclined to leave such positioning for a man, even if he were of equal standing. So, he'd been tasked with the arduous position of mentoring a man, so famed by knowledge of his charmed conduct; that Naruto ever remained in awe of his inability to confront the woman he had motion for. He was also the gentleman in the room unable to contain his drink.

Another was a son of the orphanage who had begotten him with the challangeful task of wooing the Lady Hinata, daughter of Lord Hyuga. A highly respected member of the aristocracy well understood for wanting not a marriage for his daughter, be that arranged in high society or for love. Naruto would have deemed it impossible, had they not already proved themselves inthralld with one another. What he struggled with was the problem that her father remained.

Lastly was Mrs. Naruto Uzumaki. His own fair skinned wife, whom loved him not, and he desired not in return. Her ache ran for another man, one of respect, that he knew had lain with his wife many a time. It had been spoken of, and in his haste to be rid of her almost suggested he take her far to moon with away from his vision. This was not because he found the woman distasteful, or ingracious. Indeed in proper circles of romance she was an ideal lady of good breeding, handsome features and desirable persona. Fore he wished her departure in protecting of their friendship, living among each other as husband and wife was weakening them both to a state of continual depression. The only reasoning for their marriage was his skill with a quill and literary ability with falsehoods: he'd written Sakura until she'd fell.

Of course, her presence could not be unnoticed by the other company. With a tilted smile and rise of self, Sir Jiraiya made polite greeting, and courteous questioning. "Mrs. Uzumaki, an unexpected surprise to our weary eyes, for what purpose doth such beauty grace us?" Naruto watched her accept the kisses upon her hand before gracefully taking place on the sofa beside his own armchair. Appearing regal, especially in place next to him. She gave him a sweetened smile, ever the gracious hostess.

"Why, for my own trails of affection why else?" That he knew, to be a stab at his own pride, but he played it little attention. If he had regarded her as his spouse it would be a more menacing blow, however, both of them were well aware of each other's loyalties. Kiba gave them both a befuzzled look, while the elderly man nodded his understanding having seen many marriages such as theirs in his time.

"Who sways your favour, if I may ask?" Said the man, far more adapting then the young brunette beside his towering form. His sweeping hair made a motion as he regarded Naruto in equal as his wife. This served to remind the owner of the house of a man so much taller, cold, with hair so much more wild, and untamable eyes of scarlet. The memory was pushed away whence Sakura answered:

"The Honorable Rock Lee, I'm certain you know of him."

"Ah yes, a respectable man indeed-"

Their conversation continued saying things of little interest, and while he did sit bemused with Kiba interrupting with profanities of the indignity of it all, largely he remained away. His place of matchmaking man and alumnest was not needed in an environment of pleasantries as it were. These were merely the gossip filled greetings of old friends, and the arguing tongues of men made indigent by things they held no control over. A daily proceeding, that he'd never entangled himself with.

Closing his eyes in rest he pictured himself within a hurricane, above, not upon the ground, regarding the clouds as only a God would. No bird could fly so high, not into the night as he seemed to nearly touch. The clouds were wisps on the wind, and grey below him, although in moving himself he could feel the moisture of steam about him. Below he saw a hell, he'd been so certain to never invision again. He'd written to a revolution of himself, screaming at the damnation he'd been delivered from, made his own deliverance with a skill he now preserved for aiding his friendships in romancing.

Finally he was left in peace. The men had left with clutched letters in their breast pockets, his wife retiring to her own bedchamber, bidding him a good night with a face of delight. His own room was doused with morning light already, though it irked him not. There was a reason he tolerated the light meetings, for he could merely show them out the door if he had true want. Yet, he did not, fore when his friends to leave with such brightened smiles and relaxed postures made his own disposition of loneliness barible.

In place of proceeding immediately to his welcoming mattress he sat at his desk. Thinking for a moment onto how he could lighten himself further. Quill now with fresh ink he wrote all that he needed too. The emotions so hidden, the desires so sinful, the wants and need for affections not given by the hands of friendship. A positioning in the government wherein he could create a sanctuary for those of difference such as himself, obscurely if needed. The ideals of a revolution and a system created all by his own imaginings.

I was twelve when my Mother died. We were sickly, and she was holding me. He recalled writing with prints of water falling to the paper. Looking, gazing to the portrait he had made of her. Delicate and strong in visage, with sweeping red hair that remained unforgettable. It had been painful, he'd bore it well. Yet that, was an untruth he could never disclose. Not unto anyone, more of she had been a woman so brave and unyielding, far before any other of her time.

The parchment flew behind him as evermore he wrote. The sun risen, his eyes never dropped from eagerness, pacing the quill with a certainty none but he could understand. Speaking now of love, what detriment it brought, what happiness wrought. The reasonings for his understanding that were but jumbled thoughts of nonsense to anyone but he.

Then he stopped.

Pages of words cluttered the room, his hand did not ache, his eyes did not waver. Though he thought it a dream for moments, the ink on his hand proved otherwise, and the mess of his room clarified that. The very same hand dyed black moved to a page removed from the others above his last yet it was probably the thirteenth he'd written.

When I was seventeen a hurricane destroyed my town, I didn't drown. I couldn't seem to die.

He'd recalled the day as it had been. Suck waist deep by water, but not drowning, not succumbing, the hurricane had refused to move. The hurricane hadn't moved, defying itself the nature that it was. The man he'd met, his promise holding true.

I wrote Sakura love letters until she fell. The line broke, and he was fixated on his own writing, so smeared and jerked with emotion.

 _I'll write my way out._

 _Overwhelm you with honesty._

 _This is the eye of the hurricane._

 _This is the only way I can protect my legacy._

Beneath lay the papers plunging into politics. Further still, those of his loves and follies, depictions of men he'd shared a night with, not detailed, but memory filled of taste for passion. Then, as he picked up the next paper, he was surprised and uneasy at the list of names he found. Each of them with different tones of ink, some were black, and some were red. The latter being uncommon. The names were listed horizontally reading with hyphens in between.

 ** _Jiraiya - Tsunade Senju_**

 ** _Kiba - Hinata Hyuga_**

 ** _Sakura Haruno - Lee Rock_**

All written with red -crimson ink, a tone which he did not own, nevermind picked to write with at any point last night.

 ** _Jiraiya - Orochimaru_**

 ** _Shikamaru Nara - Hidan_**

Were in black. Two of the names were of people he didn't know. However, the name alongside Jiraiya's was familiar. Lord Orochimaru was a very prestigious Duke, said to have the King within his pocket. A man of whom Jiraiya had a deep hatred of, talk had circulated once that the elderly man had killed the conspiratorial lord. It proved untrue, though the rumor itself spoke of their relation unto another. Most of the names were in black, though the occasional red did occur.

What gave Naruto the greatest concern was the fact that all those in red he knew of. Or had known, persons who he had aided, their matters of love. For the life of him, he couldn't remember comprising such a list, nevermind why he would begin one. Dropping the paper as if burnt he made his way downstairs, not thinking to breakfast nor announcing his departure.

A walk would clear his mind, perhaps offer an explanation.

His feet and wandering mind had taken him to the small creek not far from his home. A man was sitting in the water, with the pose of one of those fellows from India. Seeming for all he was worth quite relaxed and comfortable in the cold liquid. Though his posture said he was nearly asleep the eyes that fixed onto him fastly were very much a clue that he hadn't been. The man smiled kindly, rose, and left the steam behind him, the robe on him shifting at least it looked that way. Something odd occurring that Naruto could not pin on any particular thing, though the gentleman seemed to have changed in some way. How so, the author could not say.

"Tell me, what stands in the middle of a hurricane?" The man looked curious, clearly asking for something he needed to know, yet it seemed like he already had an answer in mind. Regardless of knowing the strange man or not Naruto decided to play along for the moment, he could do with distraction.

"The sky?" This was not his true response, though it was given more as a beginning into something more profound then that. "Light?" This time he was more serious, but no more sure of this answer then the last.

The waterman with the green robes shook himself and gazed at a drooping purple flower in examination. "What does the hurricane bring? What does it do to people?" He asked instead. It could only be taken as a hinting question, and Naruto despite being irate at the help he hadn't needed, took it in stride.

"Destruction. Death. Ugliness It throws people from each other." This he said with a calm certainty, for this he knew as fact. The man, however, tilted his head with amusement: _'yet?'_ the question was spoken without words. "It brings people closer once its over, from their turmoil, loss." He whispered slightly, speaking more to himself. The man rose.

"Then what is in the center of a hurricane?" He asked again, and Naruto could not tell him, for he knew all his answers were wrong. "Think back." The man said now facing the water.

It was difficult, but he did recall. When the hurricane had hit his home he'd run far. There was none he knew to save him. It thought that he had killed his mother in her sleep and none wanted to save the boy who'd done that. He remembered being on his own and running to the only source of light he could find in the ever darkening sky. No one had been there, he had been away from everyone who thought him a murderer.

He recalled the emotion it brought him. "Peace?" He remembered the man, standing there with his strange attire of a foreigner, speech like that of one as well.

"That which brings destruction and death must also bring its opposite. In order to hold the forces of life - death, destruction - love, ugliness - beauty, there must also be an opposition in the world." It was a curious thing listening to a man, who seemingly spoke with the age of a wise man, not one as young as he appeared to be. "Destruction, it breaks the bonds of love we hold, yet it brings love as well. Hatred follows that as a form of love."

His lips moved to argue: then his mind came back to that field, and the man that was forever tied to it. The kiss he had been given.

"Not many can find peace in the middle of desolation. None can kiss destruction himself. In doing so, you became the opposite of death and destruction. You became peace, love, and beauty personified." That gave him pause. Reason to think the man insane for his strange ideas of life and mortality, in-universe and truth.

However, how did he know what had occurred that day? Had he been there? What made this truth? Many factors, certainly he could not have known. So whatever strange drug or hallucinogen Naruto thought he was on was mute. This was real, whomever this man was he told the truth, and he spoke from knowledge, not insanity. That who he had kissed that day had been the maker of all disaster. Yet he could not forgo satisfaction. Twisted thoughts conjured within him.

"It is not strange. Opposites are mutually connected, you will ever be tied to him and he to you. Though as that of love, your place is by his side." Confusion rattled forth this time.

"Are you a God?" This time he felt any question asked from his own mouth would be strange so he made it as blunt as he could. Receiving a blinking look and smile.

"I suppose mortals do call me that. However, I do prefer the title of Mother Nature. I covet the Earth." That explained nearly everything. Though it did leave one thing blaring, and he screeched in indignation upon realization.

"ARE PLAINLY STATING THAT I AM NOW A GOD!?" The volume did not seem to bother the - Mother Nature in the slightest. Nodding only, to which Naruto slumped by the riverside. Only now taking note of the fact that the purple flower that had been dying was now alive and blooming with an extra shimmer to its own petals.

"God of Love, Beauty, and Peace due to Madara meddling. We will see what the humans call you in a few centuries." He looked to the sky for moments at a time, thinking to punch the other guy -Madara- and then kissing him for being alluring. He got a giggle in return, and Mother Nature flushed red; he could read minds. Naruto concluded.

Though he still wondered why the sky had been yellow.


	3. Chapter 3: Say No To This & Burn

Naruto was of a special make. Granted from heaven itself as a beacon for humanity to prosper, a true gospel of the divine, holding form on Earth for all to bare witness. Someone who could enlighten the entire world, a being who could smite the demons of hell with the refraction off of his golden hair. It was apparent to all who knew him, Naruto was someone from the most pure of grace, a piece of eden before the fruit had even bore a name. Lucifer himself could not grasp at the aura of purity surrounding him.

When this man had ensnared him it had been by the tilt of his smile. The sun didn't shine at night, so his hair dulled, the sky wasn't the same blue as his eyes so they only stood black. But his smile lifted his face, changed its shape, and brought a glimmer to the midnight eyes. Stars in a canvas of navy, as they caught in the moonlight, from the twitch of even the smallest grin. In the wake of his joy, his smile bloomed like a moon rose, the stars in his eyes gained a glimmer and sparkle of their own accord, his sunflower hair blossomed and shone under the firefly's simple golden iridescence.

He had known himself to have been struck by cupid's arrow at that moment. They had only been walking, the moonlight and stars had been clear passionate in their radiance. So how could he hold a flame to this man's allure of godhood? This answer was one simple, he could not indeed.

Understand, there was nothing in himself lacking, certainly not in manner he was civilized and knew the correct conduct for being in the presence of someone so ravishing as he. He was someone who could best any man in battle! A knight of the highest breeding, whom never faltered at the task presented. Considerate to those in need, he always sought to comfort and aid the children and those weaker than he could he afford to. He was not a licentious man, not one of greed or impurity. The ways of the flesh had never offered any allure, but then he had met a messenger of heaven, and for the first time his heart had leapt his eyes had strayed from their path of virtue. Only to damn him to the most daunting of battles.

Naruto was an exception to all he knew. He was not swayed by flattery, flowers, or flaunting. Instead he only responded to courting if it was in the truest intentions, if the one in whom he held interest could respect his whims. If they could hold him tightly when he needed kindness and comfort, make him laugh in times of merriment, smile with him as the morning sun broke the horizon. Naruto only returned his affections if he spoke in honest thought. The sun proved his passion through words of compassion, a loud and despeckling image of ambition, with a luster that many would ignore. Madara found he could not, the way in his spoke was of the greatest refinement. The crown itself would stand in jealous rage should they be within his beloved's presence. He knew, rare was it that someone even of royal descent could hold such passion and keep it firm in their grasp in facing scrutinous decent.

He loved the man all the more for his resilience and enduring presence as he bore not in mind the oddity he was amongst the town, nor in the citadel. He was simply a revolutionary encapsulated in the body of the most beautiful maiden. Of course, it was only in reason that some words ought to hold within the confines of thought amongst the servants of the castle. To many free spoken servants could cause many problems for the monarchy, so he tried as much as he could to keep his courted at his side so that he may protect against loyalist knights and gossiping Ladies.

The last dusk past, he had been taken to his loves room in tentative step. He had found himself on a threadbare cot, under the cold chill born only in the rooms of a servant. In his common cloth he felt the flushing creep away from his cheeks and to his chest as he stared up at the one he loved. Never having considered that someone of such purity could succumb to mortal lusts, he had gazed into the warmed jewel eyes, not oblivious to the flush competitive to a roses bloom on Naruto's cheeks. Warmed his entire face in a more golden hue, his gold spun hair of silk hung limp, damp from water. His chest had been heaving and colour continued even beneath his near threadbare servants cloth. Descending, as he could only presume at the time even across his not yet existing breast. He admired not for long before the lithe body was pressed against his own more muscled one.

He had grasped at the childbearing hips, and traced along the ribs as he pressed his mouth to the other man's, he had relished in the softness he had found there. He had pressed into the delicate almost fragile shoulder blades as he had pressed the brown toned man closer to himself, warmth seeping through their entwined bodies. They had rolled over, and committed themselves to the fornication. He had rolled them gently, putting himself in a position of power as he never had with their relation. Naruto had allowed him to with a sweetened tilt to his smile. Having been entranced he had laid a plenitude of soft kisses onto the skin of his loves jaw. Small sighs escaping the other at the simple presses.

He had traveled downwards with his affections holding his lips to the softened chest, and placing his bare hand on his beloved's bare thigh. The skin there having never been touched by another man save himself, and it brought thrill to his loins. He suckled on one of the darker brown nipples standing to attention he had gotten a squeal at this attention, that which would provide for any children born from his loves womb. He had been forced to block several of his less sweetened thoughts as his hand traveled higher. Finding the folds, he graced them gently with one finger pressing momentarily against the clitoris, but he instead brought his hand up to the cock just above. The most sensitive part on Naruto's gender, most would not consider focusing on this, but he wanted darling to experience pleasure just as he wished to relish in it.

Naru had moaned clasping his hands over his mouth as to not release any other sounds, and having not expecting the gentle and pressure over a place so hardly mentioned without slander he had came from the first stroke. Light liquid spilling over onto his abs. He had grasped at the softening flesh instead, and switched from one nipple to the other, resuming his suckling only for a second before he moved upwards and rested himself gently onto his loves softer, but muscled, form.

Turning his lips to the long neck before him, and began to lavish the sun-kissed-brown skin with attention. His other hand beginning to play with the under folds of his courted's most sacred place. Calmly, he had slid a single finger in, meeting little resistance, he looked into the divine's eyes, as he flushed and turned from his gaze. Madara had kissed the man at the revelation that he had prepared himself for this. Still… He pressed forward two additional fingers, and here he met some resistance, gentle quivering around his fingers causing him to moan as he detailed the neck before him. Withdrawing from the warmth he had untied the thread on his shirt and removed it quickly, he undid the laces on his trousers, laying his bare chest on his love's, feeling every crevice of the smaller, muscular torso on his own.

He gazed into the heated sapphire gems, having already placed himself ready, he kissed the man he loved once more. His eyes opened as he took in the swimming and glimmer present in the angel's eyes, holding he lips to his own he memorized the look before he thrusted his hips. He broke the kiss as he moaned, they both did, only Naruto threw his head back and let loose a loud and impassioned one.

"Keep me quiet." He had held his beloved lips to his own once more, relishing in the feeling of strong servants hands entwined in his long hair. He pressed himself forwards burying himself near fully, and the gasp he let loose into sweetened lips was unintended. He was warm, so warm…

He looked down into the eyes of his beloved, the stars themselves looked back at him. He shuttered at the beauty he was so blessed to behold, and came.

* * *

He recalled that night now with nothing more than the greatest adoration present in his once melancholy heart. A new meaning to ecstasy had graced his mind, and he held with him now the surety that a man from the divine now was his own, the messenger of heaven had made him a man, and he had held a piece of holy grace in his arms. Megar words were inaccurate in describing how his heart felt light, and his mind lost all abrasions to the mortal coil. He stood in the majesty and grace of who must be an angel, sharing in holy light as a protector and as a lover.

"Sir Madara!" Shouted the rustic tones of the first knight, and Prince of the kingdom, Tobirama. Holding his eyes steady, and chin higher in the same ever bored expression he held in such esteemed regard. Madara wondered if the man knew any other expression, or if it had simply stuck that way. Of course being the Prince, he did not voice this mockery.

"Sire?" He bowed, a tilt of his head, they had never held each other in high regard.

"My sister wishes to have an audience with you. Immediately." He held his tongue, the question rising quickly, he had no idea why she would wish for an audience with him, for were it for something about his duties as a knight it would have gone from her to her brother. Yet, it was unlikely Tobirama knew why he was being asked, so he gave another quick bow and made haste to the throne room. His chainmail absorbing the chill of the frozen air, and bestowing it upon his person, seeping even underneath his thick undercloth.

In bringing himself to the great doors of the grand hall he straightened himself, and gave a nod to the guards standing there. He walked in without further preamble. The well decorated, and painted walls depicting several historical and well fought battles of the royal family, the fine decorated windows were in the image of the current Queen, as well as her brother. He had been told that the remaining paine was awaiting the future King's image, whenever the Queen did decide to marry.

Her Majesty was awaiting calmly on her throne, spread in a way one would not associate with the ruler of a wealthy kingdom. A casual refrain, while her long brown hair fell like a waterfall, glistening in the green tinge of light from the windows, spilling over the arm of the throne as her legs rested over the other arm, displaying her ankles. He breathed deeply, and cast his eyes away, grateful for the fact that he had to bow for once.

"Your Highness, you requested an audience?" He remained bent at the hip, not moving until he heard the rustle of fabric as she repositioned herself, hopefully in a less lecherous position. Risking a glance he saw she had actually moved to the window, a strange emotion tormenting in her brown eyes as she stroked a delicate finger on the memorial image of her mother.

"I am troubled Sir Knight." She did not face him as she spoke, and he held his head higher. Confused by her admission, but no less listening to his Queen's sweetened voice. He had been told in repeat that she did nothing without reason, her movements were always with purpose. And as he had heard, she was also an experienced women when it came to battle, hard to imagine from her disposition now, regal, and saddened by a force unforeseen, dressed in a fine gown of green silk and blessed with a bronze crown around her head embedded with large emeralds and carved with the patterns of climbing ivy.

"You are the third son of the House of Uchiha on our Western border, yes?" She turned, facing him now, brown and hazel eyes staring in warmth into his own directly. It wasn't a true question, for she knew it to be fact, yet he answered her as she had asked. A lightened smile appearing on her face imparting a compassionate visage onto her, but it fell apart quickly as fortified as rusted armour. "I have an offer for you," she came to stand before him, and he was not unashamed to admit that she was taller then he. Yet even if this was so, it was only by a hair, and their eyes could meet directly.

"Your Majesty with all respect, why is it you sought me here?" She sighed loudly, her chest heaving at the motion, her breasts however held firm within the tight confines of her dress stopped from moving at the inhale.

"Rumours are spreading, ones I cannot ignore. My advisors grow restless, and I have become aware now that I cannot delay my marriage any longer. I am already in my twenty-sixth harvest I am in need of an heir… More then that, I need to assure my people that my family will continue to rule over the land." Her lace trimmed sleeves were being torn apart by the twining of her hands, the motion of someone trapped in circumstance. Madara did not know how he could aid her with this. Yet, with her calm manner deteriorating he saw a woman plagued by years of hardened resolve and the cruse of ruling a kingdom baring an impossible weight on her shoulders.

"Could your brother not marry in your stead? He seems a capable man, and if you long not to be bound by metronomy…" Her voice interrupted, and despite her kind smile her tone gave insistence to the fact that her mind toiled as it came to his ears as an angered sentence.

"I long for that myself, however, I'm afraid in the wake of the chill my brother's wife has taken ill. I despise the thought but I cannot fathom she will make it through the spring. By the time of his two cycles and a season of mourning are past my advisers will consider it too late a time to bring forth a properly educated heir." She quickly wiped at her eyes, and stood taller it seemed to replace the near indignity of letting tears fall. "So you see, it falls onto me. It is not that I oppose union. Simply that it must be to a person whom holds my confidence and trust. This is why I ask you, I know it's unsordid, and you needn't say yes, but I ask you to be my King because of your devout nature to this kingdom." Of all the things to expect when asked for meeting with your Queen, this was not one he could had ever guessed to be the topic.

It was obvious though, for while he loved his country, and in turn his Queen, he could not possibly leave his * true* beloved. Not even for her. He had to say no to this.

"I couldn't your Majesty, my heart would betray." She placed herself unto her throne, picking up a parchment left there and holding it delicate in her hand, seeing this, he bowed and turned to leave, his green cloak spinning with him. But her voice echoed strongly in the large hall as she called out to him.

"I understand, truly I do. Which is why I offer you something in return for your sacrifice." He held himself steady at her bid to attention, wanting not to hold anger towards his Queen as it arose steady within. "As I understand, your family has a strong grievance with the House of the North, bordering on war. They are cautious of this Kingdom, they do not wish to begin a war with a our knights. So, if they were to find that I had already been betrothed to the House of Uchiha it will have them back away from your family as they will be aware that any act of aggression towards your family will be a slight onto the future King, you see?"

He drew in a sharp breath, the ever fading image of his brother perched in the corner of his vision. His face already having obscured from his memory, barely anything of the man remained clear. Izuna, he had been one of the family, a truly devout man, smiling in the face of death fighting for his family's honour with no doubt in mind of his victory. That was what remained of him, a legacy that would amount to nothing if their family fell now to the North. What the Crown represented was protection, he would have the sway to stop his noble house from falling… And yet, it was so obvious what she was doing that his pride rebelled. He would not be swayed by the Queen as she used their position to influence him! Say no to this, he heard his brother inside himself. He continued out, not dignifying her with a response. There was a large sigh behind and stood still as the quiet sounds best hidden behind doors of tears being held still.

Cracking high pitched and breathy; "Please don't go Sir!" the Queen begged of him. How was he supposed to ignore such a plea from a woman in need, it went against his oath, and beliefs as an individual. She sounded vulnerable, not at all how a person of royal birth should incline. Yet, she was different. He had been before her many times, though she had never requested for him. Her strength was volatile to hear her cry or beg it was a fundamental wrong.

He made his first mistake. He looked to her, and she was on the ground weeping, tears streaking down her cheeks, falling gently onto her collar and into the cleft of her breasts. The stiff in her muscles, the broken way in which she held herself up, seeming almost soulless in the way she stopped herself from falling onto the cold stone. She was…

He pushed past his own anger, and held out a hand to her, not looking at her weakened face. But the firm grasp of her hand in his was enough for him to smile in reverence. Pulling her to himself, he sighed at looking to her visage once more. Wiping her face with his thumb, she smiled, as did he at the familiar act. So long was it that they had been close.

"Tears never suited a woman such as you Hashi." A breathy laugh, she looked straight into his eyes, a bold move, misconduct. They never had cared for that in the past, then he had become her knight in place of being the Lord of the Household. Such things could not be ignored, they were locked within their places as Noble and Royal. Perhaps if he had made an alternate motion that day then they would have been somewhere else, he hoped, in peace. However,the wind had not seen fit to blow that way when he had made his decision.

"I heard you found interest in one of the serving staff." He withdrew, nervously playing with his hands and forcing down the feeling of warmth rising steadily up his neck. It held down, as he recalled the way she appeared weak with tears and strain.

*'Lord show me how to say no to this.'*

He began to pray, everything in himself was curling and dancing around itself as he made an entangled mess of his own thoughts. He knew what he should do, for himself. Yet, there was a steadily building increasing pressure not dissipating at the fact that his family faced such trial with the North. He split on the memories he had shared with this woman, and the golden grace of his true loves bashful smile, of the coy tilt in those sapphire eyes as they caught the sun. Gleaming only at him.

The near stark quality of the servants quarters. The thin padding and sheets, the cold draft through the window, the stench from the excrement having been dropped from above. Naru's lean limbs bare ribs, caved cheeks… How he fretted throughout the dawn at preparation of meals and cleaning the halls. The world granted someone of the divine a lowly station while someone like him, who could have married into royalty without a qualm denied his chance. Naru who held the place and favour of the Gods had never wavered from his spirit, never held hatred in his heart for those who mocked and jeered at him. Who still found place to put someone like him within the confines of his heart, who loved without baring on whom he let in what class they held, how they appeared, nothing but affection lay within him. Who carried on with his head on even as Madara watched helpless as his fellow knights mocked and called him a vixen. He who deserved it all and held nothing!

"Show me how to say no to this. I.. I don't know how to say no to this." She smiled at him, as ever, convergent with his thoughts.

"Anything you want if you stay." She pressed herself firmly to him, not indecently, but in the way resembling their early years of whimsy. "It will be okay…"

"The situation is helpless." He wasn't blind. It was obvious was it not? Hashi, had never been a woman helpless, but now she looked weak and afraid, strained from years of political pressure. Her hair sparkled, glinted in the light, but her eyes had lost their mirthful lustre as the years had continued to age. Skin dulled, and faded now from not being within the sun's simple and grasping warmth for many weeks on end, held in the confines of the castle guarded and secure, haunted by her duty to her people. The girl of the forest was stuck within the grounds of her own family, grasping onto the stone of her dream as it slowly slipped from her grasp. * My god she looks so helpless…*

Naruto, servicing with the fortitude of a knight his monarchs and lords with food and water, toiling at cleaning sharpened blades, polishing stained windows of a wealthy household where he posed little sustenance. Boldly declaring beliefs and liberal objections without care of reform. Continuing with a saints patience through the courtyard tolerating the taunts, raising his nose high at the jeers. Flourishing in the beauty of flowers, overstanding even the knights with his bravery. * His body screamed* *** **hell yes.*****

The fading memory of his brother smiling, the ingrained image of his blood coating the battlefield.

She must have seen him wavering. "So?" Glittering midnight stares held in his vision, the brown forest of years past and the river hidden, blood soaking through the ground. The bright sun. The joyous laugh. The black eyes.

This, was the only unselfish thing he had ever done.

"I don't say no to this."

* * *

Long ago, I used to watch all the knights gathered to train. My eyes would always stray to the whimsical idea that perhaps one day I would be noticed, and they would desire to protect my heart.

Without realising my eyes had focused on you. I watched as you trained. The way in which you balanced your sword, pivot your foot directing the angle of the blade. Holding yourself in a manner calm and clear, intimidation and resilience, no one could meet against your blade and not fall to your skill.

I could not deny my own selfish desires a feeling of falling dismally into the unseen, only to be grasped and held by a man who I know I could never truly hold for my own. You trapped me with your longing eyes, dancing under promise and slaying for your belief in this kingdom. Your mind in its brilliance never wavering from duty and fantasy. To keep yourself so poised in front of my own, stupid ideals of a servant. How you a knight, a noble, showed me kindness, treated me not as a lesser man, but as the better of us.

I had been encased in the rose's of the garden, smelling their sweetened fragrance and never longing to see past them. I remembered the flowers you brought me, each more lovely then the next, how your words were honeysuckle, and your eyes held the moon a loft. I was falling to hard into something that would incompas me. One of those rose's thorns would be poisoned. Still, I allowed myself the pleasure of having your affections, reading your letters, and listening to your voice speaking of promises of love.

I saved every letter you wrote to me. Each one flourished with your unbridled thoughts, they were each so beautiful so passionate, and from the moment I read them I knew you were mine. You said you were mine, I thought you were mine…. You and your words flooded my senses, your sentences left me defenseless. And they ripped out my heart and placed it into your hands before I had even realised what they had done to me. You created a whole empire made for me, a palace out of paragraphs.

I reread every letter you wrote to me. I searched and scanned for answers in every line, for some kind of sign and when you were **mine…**

Watching you say your vows to the Queen. I hold my head, I straighten my best clothes, I smile in the way I know the be the falsest of all. I glance at the room, decorated in hundreds of flowers all hand picked and placed with the utmost care. I know because I was one of the servants who lavished the alter. The people all dressed in their finest smiling at you and the Queen, their smiles are jeers to my eyes. They hold horns of the devil. They clap and smash my dreams within their hands. The flowers are blooded, and your face is that of a demon. I wish them gone. And in my view they all start to burn… Burn like the fires of hell, burn… like the chaos in my heart. If the world is aflame no one can touch me.

She who stole you. Her hair is spitting flame, her eyes are blackened chars, her skin is crackling ember. Her gown is gone, and all that is underneath is the whore who she is! In elevating your name… You have ruined our **lives…** I wonder, does the Queen know you are an icarus? Does she know you'll fly into the sun? And I'll watch, watch as your wings melt and you fall, then I shall wait, patiently, for your wife, so that I may grant her the privilege of joining you!

I realise now, that your sentences were senseless… You are paranoid, placated only when you grasp onto higher, and higher onto power.

 **YOU! You…** you…

 **You have torn it all apart! I'm watching it…** **BURN!**

 **THE WORLD HAS NO RIGHT TO MY HEART. SHE HAS NO PLACE IN OUR BED.**

 **I'M BURNING THE MEMORY'S BURNING THE LETTERS THAT MIGHT HAVE REDEEMED YOU!**

 **YOU FORFEIT ALL RIGHTS TO MY HEART.**

 **YOU FORFEIT THE PLACE IN OUR BED, YOU'LL BE SLEEPING IN HER'S INSTEAD.**

And all that will remain… Are the memories of when you were **mine…!**

 **Mine…**

 **Mine…**

I hope that your legacy burns you! In everything you are! In everything I was! Grasp onto your power, and feel it encompass you, as it tears at your flesh more, and more, and more! Until you drown in the heat!

I- hope that you… I- I wish you were…

 **mine...**


End file.
